Brian Freemantle - No Time for Heroes

And on the eighth day they heard – not completely, but far more than they had dared hope – what they had been listening for.

‘ Gusovsky,’ announced a rasping voice, maybe that of a heavy smoker, the moment the receiver was lifted.

‘ Arkadi Pavlovich! ’ greeted Kosov.

‘Chechen,’ identified Danilov at once.

‘Pavin called him a leader,’ remembered Cowley. He smiled, half disbelievingly, at the Russian.

‘… gone quiet? ’ asked the caller.

‘… told you they were getting nowhere,’ came Kosov’s stronger voice.

‘ I need to be absolutely sure: we’re ready to go.’

‘ You can be. Dimitri Ivanovich is my friend.’

‘Me?’ queried Danilov.

‘Who else?’ agreed Cowley.

Static snowed the line, blotting out Gusovsky’s response and the beginning of whatever Kosov said.

‘… waiting to hear from you, before I spoke to him again.’

‘… want a definite assurance,’ said Gusovsky.

‘ I can get it.’

‘… worth his while.’

‘ I’ll tell him.’

‘ What about you? ’

‘… suggested it.’

There was more interference. All they caught of what Gusovsky said was: ‘… going personally.’

‘ Who? ’ asked Kosov.

There was a gap, which they later decided had been a pause of uncertainty. The reply was broken, when it came.

‘… Zimin… Zavorin…’

‘ Rome or Sicily? ’

‘ Sicily… all arranged…’

‘ When? ’

‘… soon.’

‘… not going to be any more trouble? ’

‘… got the message. They know they’ve lost it.’

‘ Any more killing would attract too much attention,’ suggested Kosov.

‘ There won’t be, if there doesn’t have to be.’

The line blurred, the sort of interference that had come from their road tests when they drove through an underpass. ‘Shit!’ said Cowley vehemently.

‘… no problem with the other one,’ returned Gusovsky’s voice.

‘ Are you sure? ’ asked Kosov.

‘… whenever we want to. And he knows.’

Danilov was curious at the way Cowley shifted beside him, as if he were uncomfortable. The American did not answer his look.

‘ So what do you want me to do? ’

‘ Speak to him again. They won’t go until I’m sure.’

‘ They couldn’t have found out: haven’t found out.’

‘ I won’t take the risk, not this close.’

‘ Shall I call you? ’

‘ This number.’

The line abruptly went dead, the intercept filled at once by the Billie Holliday tape. Cowley snapped off the machine, looking expectantly at Danilov.

‘We needed luck,’ said the Russian quietly, as disbelieving as the American. ‘We’ve got it!’

‘It has to be about the conversation he had with you,’ said Cowley, beginning their analysis. Mentally continuing it, he thought, No problem with the other one… and he knows. Soon, Cowley supposed: very soon. It was like slowly bleeding to death.

‘It’ll be proved definitely, if he makes another approach.’

‘For an assurance,’ reminded Cowley. Rhetorically he said: ‘What does Gusovsky want an assurance about?’

‘That we’re no further forward,’ said Danilov, answering it anyway. ‘Which until five minutes ago we weren’t.’

‘But now we are,’ said Cowley. ‘Here’s how I read it. The Chechen are sending two men, Zimin and Zavorin, to Sicily: all arranged, Gusovsky said. But they’re not going until he’s sure.’

Danilov nodded, agreeing with the assessment. ‘We can manipulate it, if Kosov comes to me again!’

‘ When he comes to you again,’ said Cowley, without any doubt.

More subdued, Danilov took the analysis on. ‘A Russian Mafia group is linking with the established Mafia, in Sicily…’ Repeating the phrase the American had already echoed, Danilov added: ‘Maybe it already has: all arranged, like Gusovsky said. So what the hell has been arranged? It’s as frightening as you thought it could be.’

‘Worse,’ warned Cowley. ‘We know the Italian and American Mafia are partners: always have been. Now we’ve got the global connection: Worldwide Mafia Incorporated. You any idea what that means?’

‘No,’ replied Danilov honestly. ‘At the moment I don’t think I have.’

‘We can do a lot of damage,’ insisted Cowley, a promise as much to himself as a suggestion to the Russian. ‘We can manipulate it, if we’re reading it correctly. If we can catch these two guys in Sicily we can not only sweat them about the murders: we can bust their deal. Maybe break a Sicilian ring, too.’

Danilov felt a sharp and surprising inadequacy, at the enormity of what they were discussing. ‘I can’t get to Sicily without authority… which means admitting the listening devices…’

For several moments they sat unspeaking, each trying to assess the loss. The car bug – and Kosov – was their only lead, Cowley acknowledged. There was no way to prevent his destruction. So why didn’t he take all the responsibility?

Cowley said: ‘The eavesdropping equipment is American: nobody here knows anything about it. And they can’t ever. I’ve travelled in Kosov’s car. I could have planted it. Be working independently of you, after all the fuck-ups.’

Danilov iooked back at the American, head curiously to one side. ‘So I don’t know you’re doing it…?’ he groped.

‘All you know is what you’re told, by an American. Which could have come from America.’

‘And the bugs stay in the car!’ acknowledged Danilov.

‘Unbeknown to anyone except those who need to know,’ said Cowley. ‘How’s that sound?’

‘Just fine,’ accepted the Russian.

The call came from Kosov two days later, to Petrovka, not to the apartment; an invitation for lunch the following day – ‘just the two of us, like old times.’ Danilov couldn’t remember any such old times, but said he’d look forward to it. He fixed an appointment with Smolin afterwards: Cowley spent most of that afternoon sending messages to Washington and replying to the flurry of questions they prompted from the FBI Director.

Kosov was already seated when Danilov arrived at the Dom na Tverskoi, and for once did not attempt the arm-waving flamboyance of champagne and permanently attentive waiters: he actually shook his head against the interruption of one man who began to approach, pouring the red wine himself. They touched glasses and toasted each other’s health, and Kosov said at once: ‘So it’s getting nowhere?’

‘We’ve had to release Antipov,’ disclosed Danilov, alert to the reaction.

Kosov nodded. ‘I know,’ he boasted. ‘What now?’

The knowledge could still have been either Mafia or government, decided Danilov. ‘Bill’s under a lot of pressure from Washington. They’re talking of withdrawing him. After all the problems they think he’s wasting his time. He seems to think so, too.’

‘Which would leave it to you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘And there’s no way forward?’

‘Not that I can see. Maybe I’ll get lucky.’

Kosov added to their glasses. ‘You thought any more of what else we spoke about?’

‘Like what?’ Danilov was glad he was not in the car, where he would have known everything was being overheard: self-consciousness might have been obvious.

‘Like missing the old days.’

‘I don’t think I said I missed them.’

‘Just some of the benefits.’

‘Olga certainly misses them.’ He didn’t like bringing Olga into the conversation, but it fitted.

‘Women like nice things. Larissa wouldn’t know how to live any other way.’

For a few brief seconds Danilov wondered if there were some hidden meaning in the remark, before deciding there couldn’t be. Larissa was going to have to learn. ‘It’s too late for me now.’